At the young age of seventy-five, Benedictine monk Kilian McDonnell began writing poetry. His published work entitled, Swift, Lord, You Are Not, published by St. John's University Press (Collegeville, MN) in 2003 is a collection of his poetry. I like McDonnell's style, it feels both raw and insightful. At his age, the wisdom of the years have instilled a sense of the genuine, authentic, and true self. The art of crafting poetry, so it seems to McDonnell, is truly incarnational. Take, for example, this one poem that spoke to me. I wondered what fires are best unremembered for this monk.
Don't Look Too Carefully
"O search me God and know my heart" Psalm 39:23
by Kilian McDonnell, OSB
What sudden senile arrogance
provoked this bid to despair?
If you knock, God, be prepared
to see what stands behind the door:
unswept floors, unmade
beds, unwashed dishes
in sink, a lone Giotto
unhung against the wall.
(I, too, have been to the Uffizi,
read Dostoevski, Yeats.)
If you turn over a stone
on my beach, what creatures scurry.
Dig in my ruins, you sift
buried rags of intent.
Uproot my elm, you pulled up
forgotten teen-age tinsel.
Poke my cinders, you stir
fires best unremembered.
Search me not, test
no more. Take me as I am.
